Claire

A Bit of Therapy

Claire's POV

I was leaning against a lamppost outside Death's house. He was getting some clothes and stuff. Said he didn't want to take any chances by leaving me alone. But here I was, all alone, because I couldn't stand to bring myself face to face with Lord Death.

Whether it was shame or guilt, I couldn't ever tell you. But this burning pit boiled in my stomach, and I was most literally sick a few minutes earlier. Not that Death would ever discover that.

Damn, what is taking him so long? I thought. I turned, glaring at the door. A high-pitched ringing started out of no where, a lightning-fast image of Zero laying on the ground bleeding following only seconds after. I grabbed hold of the lamppost desperately as my knees threatened to give out.

"Claire! Are you okay?" Death was in front of me, pale with concern. "Damnit! I knew I shouldn't have let you stay out here alone!" I chuckled, standing up straight and strong. "I'm fine, Death! If there was something wrong, I'd let you know." He eyed me suspiciously, as if he knew I wasn't telling him something, and then sighed. "Alright. I trust you. Shall we go?"

We started our way down the cobble streets, headed for home. My home, anyway. I was eerily suspicious of the new bond Death and I had created. It wasn't just that, either. It was the fact that Death could calm me down with a single touch. That was something else that bothered me. Kai used to be the only one who could do that. Why? Because he'd been there for me for years! And suddenly Death replaces him? Replaces Kai's ability? I'd never deny that it shocked me. But I'd never lie and say that I wasn't even the slightest bit happy it was now Death who calmed me down instead of Kai.

I shook the thoughts from my head. Why would I think something like that! Death was a friend. So what? I do have a few now. So what makes Death so different from all of them, despite the fact that he's a Reaper? I'd have to put some serious thought into that. The kind of thinking that required being alone, and utter silence.

When we made our way up the steps and into the door, I almost couldn't help but smile. This was home. This was familiar. This was peace.

"Oh, but isn't Kid infiltrating that peace?"

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from gasping at the voice in my head. That has never happened before. What the hell was going on with me? I rested my palm against the cool counter, and sighed. Death waltzed into the living room and put his bag down, then sat by my side. "What's eating at you, Claire?" I chuckled, shaking my head as I sat up. "I figured coming to the DWMA would bring me peace. I wouldn't be under the scrutinizing glare of my father any longer, the instinct to guard and protect my sister would decrease, and I'd train and educate myself, without the interruption of others." I scoffed. "It's all the opposite. I'm more under my father's glare than ever before, for whatever reason. And, as soon as I came here, the instinct to protect my sister grew stronger, not weaker. Training and educating weren't any amounts of important at first, not when I first met you and you tried to chop all my hair off. As for interruptions of others..." Death seemed to hold his breath, and I laughed. "I've never experienced such a good interruption in my entire life, Death. Let me tell you that." Death let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

Death sighed, leaning on the counter. "Claire? Can I ask you something?" I shrugged. "Sure." He smirked. "You're the only one in the entire academy who calls me 'Death' instead of 'Kid'. Why's that?" I gulped. Shit. I didn't think of this one. "Well... In my opinion, you're not a kid. Even if you were named after your father, shouldn't you be Death Jr. or something instead of 'Death the Kid'? Have you ever thought of that?" Death grunted. "I've questioned many of my father's ways and opinions. Nothing changes. Nothing has any affect. He seems... Immobile. Know what I mean?" I chuckled. "Oh, yeah. I know what you mean. Doesn't give you straight answers, isn't willing to tell you anything you're desperately curious about. And you always find yourself questioning why. Why would he hide this or that? Why won't he give me a straight answer? Why is he being so secretive? It brings you to a startling conclusion; he doesn't trust you. He never truly has, and yet he trusts you to trust him. What gives him that right? What gives him the authority to assume you will mold into the exact image he sees fit? And if something changes? If you add your own distinct touch, your own style? What happens then? Does he destroy you? Or does he simply accept your ways and let that be? No. Of course not. We are to mold into their palms, becoming the Meisters and Weapons they want, no matter what our opinion or thought of the matter." Death gaped. "What... Was that?" I waved dismissively. "A short, simple evaluation." He scoffed. "That seemed more like a lecture than a 'short, simple evaluation'." I giggled. "Well, one can never predict the outcome of a storm, can he?"